The Phoenix
by smkelley93
Summary: Katniss and Peeta now lead a normal life with their two children. Are they safe forever?
1. Introduction

There have been plenty of times where I wished I had a normal household. Normal friends. Normal relatives. Normal parents. I just wanted to be plain and simple. Not a child of the famous Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen. A child of the Mockingjay. Even people I've known since I've been born, stare when I walk around town selling my game. Yes, before you ask, I hunt just like my mother and I paint just like my father. My brother knows how as well, but he took over the baking aspect and cooking what I catch. We're a team with our parents; I hunt with our mom and my brother works in the bakery with our father.

Our parents are still damaged from the war, but Aunt Johanna has told us that they were much worse right after the Rebellion and the 15 years in between then and my brother and my birth. Countless times we have woken up from her screaming, still thinking she is still the Games or that she re-witnessing her sister in the explosion trying to save people. Countless of times have we walked into the studio and our father staring at nothing with a blank expression, and Mom telling us to leave him be for an hour or two. In the end, it is always our parents who save each other when they become catatonic or hysterical.

Sometimes I do wish I had normal parents, but, honestly, I wouldn't want to have it any other way.


	2. Chapter 1

Groggily, I wake up from a woman yelling out a girl's name. It sounds like Trish? Mim? No… Prim. My mother is yelling out Prim's name, again. I slide the cover off of me, so I can stand and stretch my aching muscles keeping mind of my hurt shoulder. Yesterday was a rough day hunting by myself. It is a rare occasion for me to hunt alone, but Mom was busy yesterday helping Dad through another episode. Dad having an episode is also infrequent. Because of this, Rye was also stuck by himself at the bakery all day.

Opening my door, I notice light streaming from the bottom crack of his door, obviously he awake because of the screaming like I am, but I don't hear any noise coming from his room. As fast as they can, my feet carry me down the stairs and into the kitchen when I put a kettle full of water on the stove; tea always helps Mom calm down. Boiling the water isn't much, but for Mom, it means less she to worry about. As soon at the kettle starts squealing, I pour the scorching hot water into a plain, white mug and place a lavender tea bag to soak. I silently thank Aunt Johanna every time we use this tea she sent a while back.

Mom's footsteps are always quiet, like the huntress she is, and I almost splash the hot water on me as I set the cup on the counter when she speaks. Both of us have this nasty habit of being too quiet when we do anything like walking around the house and accidently scaring whoever we're walking by.

"Thank you, Willow," she says, tired. I only smile in response, my heart racing from the slight scare she gave me. Mom places the warm mug between her hands and the steam gives her the oxygen to spark the fire inside her, waking her a little. "How was hunting yesterday?" She asks.

Internally, I groan. We weren't able to see each other yesterday since she went to sleep early so she can wake up early this morning to hunt. I didn't think she would ask me so soon about hunting; I was hoping she would inquire about it in a few hours when we were in the woods hunting.

I decide to not fully tell her the whole truth, thinking she wouldn't ask any more questions about the disaster that was yesterday's lonely hunting adventure, "It went alright. A few hiccups, but it was fine." I don't make eye contact so I pour myself a cup of tea as well to distract my eyes from my mother's piercing gaze, always knowing when I'm keeping secrets. I'm also distracting my hands from reaching my arms to scratch at the itchy, healing wounds.

Me thinking that she wouldn't ask any further questions failed. "What happened?" I can never keep anything from her.

Exhaling deeply I replied, "I tripped while I was tracking a deer down a hill."

"Are you okay?" I can still feel her examining me as I keep my eyes from meeting hers.

"A few scratches and no broken bones. I'm fine." I'm short with my words as I muster my small replies. I don't want her to see the damage.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, but I only brought like three squirrels to the Hob. They were still grateful for the meat, but I feel like such a failure."

"You are not a failure, Willow Rose," she only says my middle name when I'm in trouble, "there are plenty of hunters now. They probably brought meat as well."

I shrug in response, and we don't speak for a while. We are comfortable that way, basking in each other's company. I could still feel her eyeing me, though, and she finally speaks.

"You never wear long-sleeved shirts in the summer." My mother really does know me too well. My personality and physical looks, minus my eyes, is like looking in a mirror; I am a carbon copy of her.

"I got cold during the night. Is that a crime?" I know I am in the wrong becoming sarcastic with my mom, but pestering me about something trivial is annoying and I couldn't help snapping back.

"Willow-" her tone warning me to stop.

"Is it?"

"Did you get hurt when you fell?"

I did, and I should've been smarter than just thinking a shirt could cover my wounds.

"It's not a big deal, Mom."

"I'll be the judge of that. Show me," she demands. Sometimes, she is too overprotective.

She has now slid of her stool and walks towards me. As she advances, I slide my sleeves up. The damage is minimal but enough for me to feel the fabric of my shirt slide against my fresh scabs. I don't want to reveal any of my wounds to her, because it's embarrassing to show her what happens if I hunt alone. I want to prove to her that I can do it.

Her eyes squint as she takes note of the scratches especially the one that starts on the sides of my arms when I tried to stop my sliding.

"Take you shirt off, please."

"Mom, it's really not that bad."

"Now, Willow."

I do as she says, and I strip away from my protection.

"Have you put any sterilizing medicine on these," she asks as she gingerly inspects my wounds.

I tell her I did; she nods in approval. Mom turns over my arms to look at them closer. There is a gash on my shoulder that I couldn't medicate; I know she will make me spin around she can look at my back.

And she does.

My ears barely pick up on the sharp inhale when she sees the gash. "Willow, you may need stitches."

I don't need stitches. I don't want them either. "But it stopped bleeding. It's fine."

"I wish you hadn't inherited my stubbornness. Of everything I handed down to you that is one thing I didn't want you to have."

"At least you don't have both of your children incredibly stubborn." I earn a soft chuckle from her.

"You're not going to let anyone stitch it up, are you?" She asks and I shake my head. "Can I at least put something on it?" Another shrug from me is her answer.

As quietly and quickly as she came in the room, she leaves. I wait patiently in the kitchen in only my bra and sleep shorts. Now wouldn't be the time for Dad of my brother to come in here like they sometimes do to grab a late night or pre-breakfast snack. Fortunately, Mom comes back before I really begin to worry that they will. I'm not very modest, but I would be uncomfortable displaying my scrapes and gashes.

I hiss when she sprays my shoulder with an alcohol-based antiseptic. She mutters an earnest apology as she keeps spraying the spots she's missed. Is my wound really that large?

"I don't like hunting by myself. It makes me feel vulnerable," my mouth decides to spit without my permission. I always feel vulnerable around Mom; she's always the person I confide in.

"I'm sorry. If you don't want to, you don't have to," Mom replies as she starts to cover my gash with some bandages.

"I have an obligation, Mom. Hunting is what I chose to be my occupation."

"Sometimes, you do need a day for yourself and you know you are able to do so. You could always join Rye in the bakery if you don't want to hunt alone. Just because you chose to hunt, doesn't mean you always have to. People in the Hob aren't always there, are they? They have others to work in their place when they need a day off."

I nod in agreement, "And there are other hunters. We're not the only ones," I slide my shirt back on when she finishes administering the bandages.

"Yes, but you can't always have that mindset," when I turn around, she is smiling at me. A genuine smile from my mom is rare. When you earn a smile from her, you know that she has temporarily forgotten her nightmares and the past. You know that you were her escape even if it is for a moment. You know that she not only likes you, but that you made her forget. You know then that that is what she wants: to escape sometimes.


	3. Chapter 2

I would just like to say thank you to Kiauna Gray for reviewing and kimbaleena2002 for following this story! Enjoy!

* * *

Mom and I set out to hunt early in the morning, like always. We make sure we arrive at the gate where we enter the Hunting Grounds before the sun wakes. We arrive there before the day shift of guards begin their day. We are probably the last citizens the graveyard guards see before they sleep. Everyone else has a couple more hours left of sleeping sand grinded into the corners of their eyes. They will be rubbing the remains of the grains when Mom and I fill our first bag.

"Hey, bones," I say to Jack, a regular graveyard guard we pass when we enter the gates. It's a running joke we have ever since I started hunting when I was confused why his shift was called the graveyard.

"Good morning, Diana," another running joke. Something about me being a twin and knowing archery and mythology? Jack apparently loves reading about Greek mythology. I would love to hear more stories, but we never have time to just stop and share stories. A smirk graces my mother's lips. She was there both times when our nicknames were born. She and I both know Jack was far too old for me, almost ten years my senior, and the relationship is nothing but sibling status; I basically have two brothers.

My mother and I grab our bags and head out into the woods after Jack and I exchange pleasantries about the weather and how his shift is almost over while mine is just beginning. We close the conversation by telling one another to have a good day.

Working together with my mom feels second nature as it has from the beginning when she was first teaching my brother and I. Rye struggled with knots and stringing his bow while he excelled in knowing how to pleasure taste buds with anything he baked/cooked. I'm still jealous to this day that I can't get what he can do exactly right.

I aim at nothing, hoping I can add to my pile which is three squirrels and two rabbits. Mom knows to keep to herself, not making any noise, when I am still like this. My body changes positions to aim at anything that moves, and I shoot when my brain locks onto the moving creature. I don't really think about doing it; sometimes it scares me because my shooting is almost always accurate. If I miss, I am not fast enough. It is my own error. She likes to watch; she says it gives her something to distract herself by coaching me. I like to distract her as much as I can.

My body fluidly turns to the left when I hear a branch snap. It is a buck. This time, I do hesitate in shooting. I can't shoot it when it looks at me with its innocent and naïve eyes; it hasn't seen the beauty of the woods yet. I imbed my arrow into the trunk of three beside it, scaring it away to live another day.

"I would have done the same thing," my mom says.

"It hasn't lived yet…" I say as I walk toward that area to retrieve my weapon. I hear my mom reply with a quiet "I know".

We quickly gather our things; both of us think we've hunted enough for today. There is still about an hour or so before Dad and Rye open the bakery. We have a little time to spend in our favorite place: the meadow.

Sometimes it's truly scary how close our minds think alike because she asks if I would like to visit our place of reprieve. Of course I answer with an enthusiastic yes. I am tired so it is as enthusiastic as I could muster.

We make our way with ease; our muscles are used to going our usual path to the meadow. The trek is silent beside the sound of our swift feet padding through the woods. Our feet do not step on any branches heavily. We are silent ghosts gliding through the trees.

It takes around ten minutes to reach the meadow. Setting our game onto the ground and swinging our bow and arrows over our shoulders to join the bags, we are able to finally relax after a successful couple of hours of hunting. We will only have twenty minutes here before heading back. I wish we could stay here forever like it seemed during my quick childhood. My family and I used to spend hours just enjoying the peace and the breeze warming our bones. I know dead bodies were buried underneath the blooming flowers, and I thank them for providing such a beautiful place. Such a morbid though to think I used to dance on this graveyard as a child, and I still danced when my parents informed me of what happened with the bodies here. It was a way for me, I figured, to thank them or celebrate their lives since they did not receive a proper funeral service. I think I like the meadow mostly because of the lullaby Mom sang when Rye and I were children still sharing a room because we were scared of the dark. She still sings when we both can't sleep although Rye doesn't like admit he is still sung to sometimes.

The sun isn't close enough to bring light to whole area to set free the colors of the flowers and grass. High noon is the best time to rest here, but I am grateful to be able to come here anyway. Not a lot of people want to come here, because they do see this place as a graveyard so they ultimately think it is haunted. Maybe it is, but the restless souls have never bothered us. I wonder if Mom thinks that way as well. Does she venture out here with me just because I like it?

"What do you want to do today?" Mom asks distracting me from my thoughts. Before I reply with what we should do after this she says, "After the Hob and visiting your father and brother, of course."

Being done with school already, leaves me with an abundance of time that I honestly have no idea how to spend it.

"I'm not sure. Maybe just help out at the bakery. Rye was talking about teaching me how to make those mini-cakes the other day."

"That sounds like a good plan. Your father would love your company. He hasn't seen you much lately."

Guilt pulled my throat into my stomach. I haven't spent much time with either of my parents. Time has been dedicated and devoted to finishing school and hunting when I can. Maybe the stress caused me to fall yesterday? Most likely not. My own recklessness was probably the reason.

"I know," I reply, looking down at the blade of grass that I unconsciously started to twiddle with, "I'm sorry I haven't spent time with you and Dad."

She tiredly smiles halfway, "You and Rye were both finishing school. We understand; we just missed you."

My mother is overly protective of my brother and me. She didn't even want us walking to school alone when we first started. Or, how she doesn't want us dating until we're thirty. Although I'm sure that was a joke.

Maybe.

I tell her that I missed them too which was absolutely, 100 percent true. I missed both of them when I returned home when we were all busy. The last couple of months of Rye's and my education career, Mom was visiting different districts to see friends which I think Dad coerced her to do, because when she's cooped up for a while, she becomes depressed and the nightmares become so unbearable to relive that she barely sleeps. Also, Dad was burying himself into making sure Rye knew how to run the store by himself. I would usually make dinner and eat by myself when I got home and then go to bed so I could wake up early without being a complete ground. And as soon I climbed into bed, Dad and Rye would come home after closing up the store. I felt guilty as I lied in bed trying to fall asleep, because I could've eaten with them, but hunting before school is hard enough hardly sleeping six hours. Hunting also wakes me up in the morning; some people have their bitter tasting coffee, and I have my hunting. I'm sure if I didn't hunt, I would kill someone at the end of the day. I don't think that would be approved of. My morning fix was making sure to bring the Hob at least half a bag of meat for the day.

Mom asks if I'm ready to head back, and I reluctantly tell her I am. She is also not wanting to leave, but we can't stay and hide forever like we'd want.


	4. Chapter 3

District 12 has improved tremendously since my parents returned to their home district, and our main industry is now medicine instead of mining. No longer is District 12 the poorest district, but we still have a small percentage of people on the outskirts depressed and still struggling from the war. They frequently visit the Hob to escape through smiling faces, encouragement, and free food. District 12 has supplied as many job as possible to decrease unemployment. The Capitol has made sure people are being fed and we have as much freedom as possible. The Hob is no more an illegal trading post and was rebuilt after Peacekeepers burned it down during the Second Rebellion, along with the homes after the bombings. Now, anyone can sell and trade items and is a respectable place for business. No longer is it a dirty, fearful place and was built much bigger than the original. Not only are there businesses inside, but it has leaked outside as well in different buildings.

When we pass these different stores, the store keepers are busy enough where we are not bombarded with ogling eyes and questions pertaining to our personal lives. For example, the questions are usually about my parents having more children or my brother and I starting our own families. The questions are intrusive because I believe they are still in the mindset that they should know everything about the beloved Victors and their children. But sometimes we just want to be left alone and be treated like everyone else.

When we walk inside the Hob, we are greeted with friendly smiles and a few 'hellos'. While Mom trades her game with a regular customer, I deliver the rest of the meat to Alex, the owner of the restaurant, where she asks if I'll help her skin the animals later on the day. I promise I will be back. Alex gives the less fortunate meals to get them back on their feet. She has a heart of gold and my soul aspires to be like hers. There are days where my mood is dark and twisted, but she helps put sunshine back in my life. The restaurant has a few employees so I assist whenever I can.

Alex and I say our goodbyes after my mother is finished with her trading; she traded the meat for more medical supplies probably because I am accident prone and we'll need more since she used it all on my scrapes. No one seems to notice my scrapes

Mom and I walk side by side to return the bags. One of us to do it ourselves, but neither of us want to be left alone. We near the gate where Jack is unsurprisingly replaced with another guard. There are separate gates for the entrance and exit. The entrance is in between where most of the homes are where the exit is right next to the Hob. They made it so it would be more convenient for the hunters to sell their game, but it sometimes isn't so convenient for some of the hunters when they have to backtrack to turn our game bags back in and then turn around and return home the same direction they came. For Mom and me, it's all in the same direction. Which I'm grateful for because I really don't want to see the same strangers twice in one day. I can only handle a certain amount of awkward conversation in one day.

You'd think we would run out of things to shoot, but our district not only has a vast wooded area, but we have also decided it would be best if we had certain months to hunt. During the winter is the time we save our energy and don't hunt. It is also dangerous for the hunters since there is not concrete footing. In the middle of spring would be commencement of open season. There are very few selected during the spring so we don't run out of game since the animals are getting reacquainted with the area. I am one of those people who hunt during the spring along with my mom; there is maybe one or two more people. And, of course we build a huge stock of meat during all of the seasons so we don't run out of food during the winter.

Fall is my favorite season. The air becomes crisp and it is the best time to hunt since it's almost impossible to become overheated when you're trying to track animals. Until you become prey yourself by a large, wild cat. Fortunately, this hasn't happened to me, and hopefully it never will. I become excited about fall and the beautiful colors it brings along.

Lost in my excited thoughts, I barely notice two hunters carrying a dead deer. They are proud of their accomplishment and I wouldn't normally be bothered, but it is the same baby doe that I wouldn't shoot only an hour or so ago. Since the rest of their game is gone, they are most likely keeping the deer for themselves. Ager flash floods my system and my hands clench tightly onto my game bag. I am not angry because they are keeping the meat for their personal use because that is not illegal nor is it frowned upon. You can keep a certain amount of your game as long as you sell, trade, or donate a good amount so everyone can eat. I am furious because they killed this baby animal that was not able to live its life yet. We could have had more meat to feed more people after its babies had grown up. That would have easily been three or four deer in total that could have nourished a lot of people.

"Careful," my mom warns me. She is not as upset as I am.

As they pass us to take it home, I try to hold my tongue, but I fail. "Did you enjoy killing a baby deer?"

I don't think I have ever spoken to these people, but I do recognize them. Their names have slipped my mind.

"Do you enjoy killing their parents?" One of them backfires.

"You know very well that we learn the families to know which babies are capable to live on their own," which is true, I am not lying. One of our training lessons is to know the different deer families and if they have babies that are still dependent on their parents. We learn their features, colorings, etc. It takes a lot of practice, and we have been warned to grow attached to them. It is a hard task to not only study these families, but to not grow attached as well. I can be an emotional person towards animals so I had to learn to keep work separated from my heart.

"The baby was by itself so it was dependent."

"It was scared. I was about to shoot it but I realized it was scared because her mother was nowhere to be found. You were probably hunted the baby after hunting its mom."

"Baby deer are also told by the mother to stay put and it does just that until she comes back. It was wandering on its own, so, fair game."

"Maybe if you hadn't spooked it, it would've stayed."

They shrugged their shoulders, "meat is meat."

"But it hadn't lived yet. You hunted that baby deer that is now not able to have babies of its own or even grow up. How are we supposed to hunt if you keep killing the babies that haven't been able to reproduce? Selfish," My mouth spits out and I turn away from them.

I don't let them respond and I start walking away with my mom right beside me.

"You should've just let it be," she says as we near the entrance gate.

I don't reply to her either as we walk into the entrance to put away our game bags in a bin so they can be washed. I feel like I needed to protect that young deer by not shooting it, but I killed it anyway.

"Willow, look at me," she quietly demands as she suddenly stops as we start our way to the bakery. I do as she says with tears threatening to spill from my eyes. I'm still so angry, and I can't seem to shake it away.

She gently cups my shoulders with one hand and the other is placed on my cheek, "I've learned, very painfully, that things happen and you can't save everyone and everything. People and things die, and you can't control it. I understand why you're upset, but they're trying to do their job even though not everyone may agree it."

"By forgetting about other's lives?"

"You can't teach them about it, Willow. They'll only ignore you."

"When you were my age, you were about to lead a revolution. You taught a lot of people about the wrongness of the Hunger Games. They listened to you! Surely, I can teach people the same. Mama, I feel like I should be doing something more than hunting and baking. I should be… I don't know… something."

"Be very grateful that you did not have to go through the Rebellion and the war and the death."

Mom takes her hands back and begins to walk towards the bakery again.

"I am grateful," I whisper. I think she hears me because I hear her heave a loud sigh in response.

"Rosey!" I hear my father exclaim happily. It's so good to see him in his normal, cheery self. Rye and I aren't really scared of him, but his episodes can become violent sometimes.

Smiling widely, I give him a big hug and try not to wince as my shoulder wound threatens to rip apart again.

"How was hunting this morning?" He asks.

"It was fine. Got plenty of food for Alex. I'm going back later to help her, you know, make food out of it," I reply as I set down my bow and arrow in the back when I follow him. Mom will probably tell him what happened earlier with the baby deer.

"Your mom told me about your accident yesterday," I raise an eyebrow towards her direction but she pays no attention as she shreds pieces of a cheese bun, "but your injuries don't look too bad."

I did decide this morning to wear a short sleeved shirt in order to hunt; it was way too hot today to have arms layered so my cuts are out for everyone to see. "No, but I do have a cut on my shoulder that will probably leave a scar."

"A bad ass scar," Rye comments and we both smile mischievously at one another. Our parents ignore us. My twin walks out of the kitchen and outside to the pile of flour bags sitting outside the door.

"Your mom is just a worry-wart. Just be sure to keep putting medicine on it."

"I know, I will," I grab myself a cheese bun before Mom eats them all.

Rye walks back inside carrying a huge sack of flour on his shoulder. "You know you'll forget to put medicine on it. You want that scar to show off. Tell people you go into a fight with a bear or something. Think about how many questions you'll get when you go swimming in the lake with your friends." His blond hair is sprinkled with flour and his grays are stormy with light blue lightning strikes. He inherited Mom's gray eyes, but he always has that glint in them that makes him look way more mysterious than he really is; he's an open book and he is a horrible liar. Rye's a total sweetheart, but you definitely don't want to piss him off.

"You're totally right. I wonder if I could get a nice hunk of a man to marry so we can both be bad asses together. Show off my scar in a wedding dress," I bite off a huge chunk of my snack.

"You know, I think you're onto something," he wipes off beads of sweat that are streaming along face with a spare towel.

Our parents are still trying to ignore us, but they're smirking gives it away that they are amused.

"Hey, Rye, are you going to teach me how to make those mini-cakes today?"

"They're called cupcakes, and yeah if you still want me to."

"Maybe tomorrow would be a better day, guys. We have to bake a wedding cake today. Remember, Rye?" Dad interjects.

Rye's eyes give me an apology, "Yeah, I remember. Tomorrow, Willow?" I nod in agreement, kind of disappointed.

They start preparing to make the cake which is vanilla. Not my favorite, but still delicious. I do help them mix the ingredients, surprisingly not messing anything up, and pour the liquid into pans. I don't pay attention to what my parents and Rye are doing since I am absorbed making sure I don't blunder everything. Afterwards, Rye and I sneak our fingers into the batter and peak at each other playfully. We are five again running around while our father bakes as he gives us the bowls as a treat and still stealing sweet behind his back.

Our parents leave the kitchen, leaving us alone to clean the bowls with our fingers and sweet tooth.

"Can I ask you a serious question, Rye?"

"Uh-oh. What's on your mind?"

"Do you ever feel like you should be doing something more with your life besides doing these, kind of, monotonous thing: hunting, baking. Sometimes I feel constrained and should be doing more."

He looks at me with a perplexed mixed with surprised expression, "Yeah, I guess so. Happening ore lately? Maybe our twin telekinesis is kicking in again," I give him a slight nudge on his shoulder, "I don't know, Willow. But our parents need us here so we should what we can to help."

"I wasn't saying I'm wanting to move away. Just asking if you feel the same way I do."

He nods as he starts to place the dishes in the sink. I'm about to help him after I lick another finger topped with cake batter, but the phone begins to ring. Waiting a few seconds, I realize our parents aren't in the building. So, I step out to the front of the store and pick up the phone.

"Mellark Bakery, this is Willow."

"Willow," a familiar woman's voice rings in my ear, "It's Aunt Johanna."

"Auntie! I miss you!"

"I miss you too, kid. Listen, is your mom or dad around? I really need to speak with them."

"I think they're around here somewhere. Hold on, let me check outside."

I walk outside and notice that my parents are at the side planting some flowers and watering them. They smile at me as I walk towards them, "Hey, Aunt Johanna is on the phone."

They look at each other, smiles fading and worry dominates their expression. I know what they're thinking: Aunt Johanna never calls here unless it's an emergency. The only time she has called the bakery to get in contact is when she miscarried when I was very young. She then stayed with us for about a month because she didn't want to go back to strict therapy.

Mom hurries to grab the phone.

"What do you think has happened, Dad?" I ask him as he stands up as well, sweeping off dirt from his pants with his hands.

"I don't know, love. We'll find out soon," and he follows Mom back inside. I then follow him to find out what's happening.

I wish there is a way to listen in to the call. Unfortunately, there is only one phone for the bakery. I hope it's nothing serious and that Auntie was worried because no one was picking up at home. No, she knows we are always busy during the day and the best time to call is during the evening. With how Mom looks furious with her face now ashen with whatever information Aunt Johanna is giving her. Dad looks sick with worry. Rye seek answers by giving me an inquisitive expression and I give him a look back to say I know as much as he does.

The phone is finally hung up, quite angrily I notice, and I don't want to ask what's happening. Mom looks too pissed off. Turns out I don't have to ask what Aunt Johanna has said, because Mom informs us anyway. I almost have to ask her to repeat what she says, because I couldn't have heard her right. But the way everyone else reacts, I hear her correctly.

She says, "There is going to be another Hunger Games. They are announcing who is going to be pooled into it tonight."

* * *

Hey, guys! I've decided to post every Wednesdays now instead of randomly posting. Please review and tell me what you think about the story so far. I gladly take any criticism. Thank you and see you next Wednesday!


	5. Chapter 4

Here is chapter four! Enjoy! :)

* * *

The games are starting again and 23 people will be murdered for entertainment. The battle against the Capitol my parents fought in has not yet been won. Their physical and mental injuries have been for nothing. Innocent people are going to die. There is a chance that Rye and I might be thrown in the arena with them and there can only be one victor.

Our parents, the star-crossed lovers who won the 74th Hunger Games, will now be the mentors for District 12. Maybe to their own children. They have fought so hard to have this not happen again. They fought so hard to make sure not only fearing for their own children being thrown in the arena, but also everyone's children.

Rye and I could ultimately be fighting to our deaths. Could I kill my own brother? No, I would rather kill myself. Could he kill me? Why are they starting this up again? I might be dead within the next month. Rye might die within the next month. What was the point of the Rebellion if the Capitol was going to be throwing back into the arena once more almost twenty five years later? Is it because it would have been a Quarter Quell? If it is, then they're planning something drastic.

"Willow? Willow?!" My mother's voice tries to break through to me, but my thoughts are too overwhelming. She's panicking and it reminds me of the time where my brother and I were playing hide-and-go-seek and he couldn't find me because I fell asleep in a bush. He was taking too long and I fell asleep from the comfort of the smell of dirt and the coolness of the shade. Mom's voice woke me up and I still feel guilty for scaring her.

My lungs feel heavy and my throat is lodged with my heart that is pumping too fast for me to catch up to it.

"Rosey, come back," my dad's voice also tries to break through the surface of my thoughts drowning me. Dad always knows what to say to save Mom and me from the violating thoughts that try to keep us forever; Mom is always taken from the past and I am stolen by the future.

The Hunger Games are being brought back and my brother and I might possibly be fighting to the death with 22 other people who are most likely going to be our lifelong friends.

I might being fighting to the death with my twin brother who is my best friend.

I shouldn't be going through a panic attack. I haven't been through anything traumatic like my parents. I should be comforting them and trying to break the seal of their overbearing thoughts.

The heavy breathing coming from my lips finally reached my ears, and I know I'm resurfacing. Panic attacks are also, I guess, something I inherited while Rye did not. Rarely do I have them, but they are frequent enough to where my parents aren't too startled by them anymore.

"Rye, can you get her some water?" I hear our dad's voice ask. Rye's footsteps walk away into the kitchen and I hear the rush of water into a cup.

Finally, my vision comes back to me and I realize that I've collapse and my parents are kneeling in front of me. They are obviously worried with their wide eyes, scrunched eyebrows, and lips forming thin lines. Rye looks helpless while he stands in the doorway with glass of water.

"I'm sorry. I don't…" I shake my head to clear out more of the fuzziness the panic attack brought, but it still feels cloudy.

"It's okay; don't be sorry."

"Are Rye and I going into the arena?"

Dad shakes his head, "We don't know, Willow. All we do know is that the Games are starting again."

Rye speaks up, "We have to stop it."

I almost want to reply in a sarcastic manner, but I bite my tongue and hold out my hand instead so he can pass me the glass of water. My stomach feels as if it wants to regurgitate everything it has consumed today, but I drink the water anyway; I know my body is dehydrated which most likely contributed in my blacking out.

"We will try our hardest to stop it, but the Capitol will be expecting us to leave our districts to fight back. Transportation is going to be practically impossible," Mom replies, "Their protection and defense is most likely impenetrable. Unless we already have people in the Capitol."

"Rebels are going to be sent back to their home districts. Anyone who had anything to do with the destruction of the Hunger Games are going to be kicked out," Dad replies.

I want to scream and cry and maybe laugh at how ridiculous this all is. This has to be a dream or at least a joke, right? There is no way the Capitol wants another Hunger Games. Are there going to be riots and another rebellion? Is the second rebellion the cause of all of this?

"It's revenge," I reply dryly as I suddenly think of it, "They want to get back at whoever destroyed their precious entertainment."

"We don't know you two are going in or not, Willow, but we will exercise every medium as possible to allow no one entering the arena."

"There is a very high chance that we are."

We don't need to speak about them having a 100 percent chance that they are going to be mentoring. They don't need that reminded.

There is silence from there on out as my parents help me to stand again to return home. We are finished with whatever is to be done here and returning home is the best option. My family and I silently decide that it would be best to hide together in the comfort and security of our house and wait for the jurisdiction of whoever is going to enter the death enclosure with cameras.

A few hours later, we find ourselves huddled in each other's arms waiting for the announcement. My parents are not going in a third time; the Capitol knows people won't want to see Victors fight to the death again. I don't think they have enough Victors still alive to do so, and it's already been done. They need something new and exciting.

They country's emblem pops up with the national song. Shivers ripple through my body. The new emblem they created has the Mockingjay with a bow and arrow behind it. What a great smack in the face for the Rebellion. I could almost feel the confusion of Panem wondering why is sending out a message.

The Rebellion knows, though.

My mom's face is ashen, and I know she feels like throwing up. She went through Hell and back, and it is starting right up again. Both of my parents went through a lot of shit, and I can only imagine how they feel or what they're thinking at this moment.

The Mockingjay emblem fades away and into President Morgan's face with her bright, white smile with her blonde hair loosely flowing against her shoulders and blue eyes alert and nervous. There is a slight fraction of time where she looks nervous, but it fades to her usual confidence. Maybe it is my eyes playing tricks on me; I could have been the only one to have seen that. I quickly glance at the other three, but they show no evidence of witnessing the same thing I did.

"People of Panem, the Capitol and I have a very important announcement. Twenty-five years ago we had a certain group of people who destroyed something that was very important to our culture. The Hunger Games. Today, we are here to announce that we will have our fourth Quarter Quell this year since this year marks what would have been one hundred years of our annual festivities."

My whole family and I are all holding our breaths in blinding anticipation. I want her to just spit it out already.

I have a feeling that there are a lot of infuriated and enraged people becoming more irate by the second.

"Of course a Quarter Quell has a very special and different criteria. The last three Quells have been, for example, voting for whomever will fight, doubling the amount of people entering the arena, and finally the Victors re-entering the Games. This year will be no different in bringing something exciting." She is handed a white envelope, and she carefully slides out the card with her perfectly manicured hand. The card she possesses holds the future of so many people.

Now, I feel like the bile wanting to escape my throat and my heart is thumping strongly against my chest.

"The ones who will be pooled into the group of citizens that will fight in the arena will be," she takes a silent gulp as she reads from the card, "will be the children of the previous Hunger Games victors. Age will be thirteen and up; there will be no maximum age limit."

My mother lets out a strangled cry as she covers her mouth with one of her hands. My father holds onto her other hand with dear life. My brother and I cling to one another as we did in our mother's womb.

President Morgan then looks back towards the camera and she shakily says, "May the odds be ever in your favor."

The T.V. screen goes back to the Capitol emblem with the Mockingjay to remind us that the fighting was worthless. That we will never been safe and they have all the power.

Rye and I are going into the arena against each other and against our friends from other districts. We will be battling to the death against our parents' friends.

Our parents are going to have to mentor us and watch either one of their children be murdered. Or both of them.


	6. Chapter 5

Hey, guys! I am so sorry for the delay, I've just been really busy and school. I feel like every time I start a story, there is always something to keep me away from writing. But, here is the next chapter and I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for the reviews, I appreciate it very much!

Also, I will be posting a song I listened to while writing that inspired me. For all the chapters up to this one, the songs have been (in no particular order) Both of Us by B.o.B. featuring Taylor Swift, Novocain by Fall Out Boy, Safe and Sound (I feel like this one is obvious but it was perfect helping me write chapters!) by Taylor Swift, and We Are Broken by Paramore. There were a lot more, but these are the most inspiring to me.

Thank you and enjoy!

* * *

None of us wanted to be left alone during the night so we all sleep in the living room with all of our blankets and pillows. It would've been a cute family get together, but considering the circumstances, it's scary and depressing.

Aunt Johanna doesn't call again. No one calls after the announcement. We are all clinging to every moment we can with our families. Mom and Dad don't sleep; they watch Rye and me as we also lie wide awake beside each other. We can't sleep and neither can we talk. We are rendered speechless by what the future holds. Our parents will soon receive information on how and when everything is going to unfold. Then, the whole country will be informed when the Reaping and the Games will commence. We don't want it to happen. Nobody does.

In the morning, the silence is broken by the sound of the telephone ringing. I pick it up when I realize that my parents are too tired and shaken up to do anything until they need to. Rye, I think, is asleep but he could be pretending.

"Hello?" My scratchy voice answers.

"Hey, Willow," a male's voice answers. I know exactly who it is.

"Percy," I say. Percy Odair is one of my best friends. His name will be thrown into the bowl of Victor's children's names. There is a slim chance that he will not be chosen- there are very few names to be selected and his father helped out tremendously to end the games.

"I was hoping you would answer. If someone else would have answered I probably would have hung up and called again until you answered. I needed someone to talk to."

"Are you okay? How are you and your mom holding up?

"We are both okay, given everything of course, but she won't talk to me. And she also locked herself in her room. She was doing so well, too. All these years without any trouble, and the Capitol just…" He lets out a shaky sigh. He wants to stay strong.

"Percy, I'm sorry. I'll have my mom call later to speak to her. Hopefully that will calm her down."

"Thank you. How are your parents holding up?"

"They're silent so I don't know what's going on inside their heads. But Rye and I are also equally as quiet. Did Aunt Johanna call you yesterday beforehand?"

"Yes," I hold the phone closely to my hear focusing on his unsteady breath, "Willow, what are we going to do?"

I shook my head, but realized he couldn't see me, "I have no clue. We can't go to one another's districts or the Capitol. My mom said they're going to be really strict with transportation."

"I wish we can run away."

That would be the best sounding option, but 1) we couldn't leave our country helpless 2) they would be expecting us to run 3) it's not brave. If my parents can fight for freedom, so can I.

' "I wish we could, Percy."

"We need to form an alliance with as many as we can."

We both know all three of us are going to be sent into the arena. Our parents were the three main people in the limelight during the war: the three tributes that everyone knew and that helped eliminate the Hunger Games.

Would we follow in their footsteps to ensure it would definitely never happen again? Are we going to be the 'new rebels' that will overtake the Capitol once more?

I don't want to be a broken piece to purify the government system. My parents fought for Rye's and my safety. They fought for us to not become just like them. We were supposed to acquire their personalities and physical appearances, not their mental breakdowns.

"We have to have as many people with us to make sure we don't fall into the Capitol's plans and die," there is a pause, "Willow, I don't want to die."

Something bubbles inside of me, "We are not going to die. I'm hoping nobody will die, but I'm going to make sure we three don't die," my heart drops, "No, four. Oh my God, have you talked to Jason?" Jason is Johanna's son. How could I have forgotten him? How could I have forgotten one of my closest friends? What kind of friend am I?

"Not yet."

"Let's take a couple of days to collect our thoughts. You call Jason and I'll talk to Rye. Hopefully, we'll figure something out before the Reaping. If not, we have those few days to brainstorm together."

"Okay, I'll talk to you in a couple of days?" I reassure him that we will most likely speak to one another sooner than that. He agrees upon this arrangement.

I think we're done on the phone until he speaks again, "And Willow?"

"Yes, Percy?"

You never realize how much three little words can be significant until you hear them when you need them the most. Three little words can suddenly give you back the breath your lungs have been aching for or lift the heavy weigh on your shoulders.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Percy," I sigh, "So much." I could hear him smile as we say our good-byes.

A year ago, we realized we had feelings for each other. It was while I was visiting him and his mother, Annie, in District 4. We were both walking along the pier when he confessed his feelings towards me and I then acknowledged that the emotions were mutual. I don't think I would have ever coughed up the courage to tell him first.

While Rye and a few more select people do know, our parents still do not know. Percy and I promised one another that we would keep our relationship inclusive, and that we would inform our parents when the timing was right. Now, would probably not be the best time to inform them so it will be a little while longer until they do know. It would have to wait until after the Games.

If one of us are still alive.

Walking back into the living room, I see that Rye has truly fallen asleep now and our parents still sit on the couch together, but Dad has drifted off to slumber like Rye. Mom is still awake, most likely terrified of the nightmares to come as soon as she closes her eyes.

"Who was on the phone?" Her voice startles me. I honestly didn't expect her to speak for another day or so.

"Percy. Needed someone to talk to. His mom locked herself in her room," I reply.

"I should call her," she whispers. She might call in a couple of hours. It is still very early in the morning.

We will stay home today; No one expects us to hunt or open up the bakery. My parents don't want to see the pitying looks. Frankly, I don't care who sees me; there are people who need me to hunt, but the fact that I'm not going alone again keeps me home. My injuries sting as I think about it. My family needs me here more than the people of the district.

Lying beside Rye, I try to mimic his breathing so I can fall asleep, but my mind is running a million miles per hours. Will I die in a month? Will Rye, Jason, or Percy perish alongside me? If I make allies, will they die? Who will I watch die and who will I watch die from my own doing? Will any of us kill anyone? What will the people of Panem think when there is death? Will they accept it or be outraged? What will my mom and dad think if I do kill someone; will they understand it was for my protection? Will there be another Rebellion and will my friends and I be the leaders of, hopefully, the last Rebellion to stop this madness? Will this game start another series of games? Is this just a vicious cycle that will never stop?

I realize Rye is actually not asleep when he turns around to face me with wide eyes. "Did I wake you?" I whisper to him.

"No, I haven't been asleep. Have you?"

"Not at all," we both glance at our parents, "we have to do what we can to make sure we get out of the arena alive." If we died, our parents will be sent into madness again and maybe never return to normalcy. We will both have to survive to keep all four of us alive.

"Of course, Willow. I'm not going to quit."

"I know. Percy called," he raised his eyebrows, "We're going to try to come up with a plan to get us out."

"They're not going to let what happened in the last Quarter Quell happen again if that's what you're thinking."

The rebels intercepted the last game and rescued who they could out of the arena. Our father was not able to be rescued at the time resulting him being hijacked with tracker jacker venom to become a weapon against our mother to kill her. Thus, resulting in him having dangerous episodes which he, thankfully, rarely has anymore.

"There has to be a way," I reply, stubborn with the thought that we will escape.

We lie in silence and watch the shadows disappear as the sun whisks them away. Our hands find each other during this time; our heartbeats hammer against one another. I feel like crying, screaming out asking why this is happening. But I stay silent, keeping all of my emotions bottled in to throw in the ocean. There is never going to be a time where I can twist the cork to release it all. Is this how the nation felt every time the time for the Games approached?

Where would I be if the Games weren't announced? I would be most likely hunting my last squirrel to bring to Alex. My stomach drops as I think of her. I never went back to help skin the meat.

I untwist my hand from Rye's and unscramble myself from the mess of blankets.

I startle him and he asks, "Where are you going?"

"I forgot to help Alex yesterday with everything happening."

"But, Willow, you can't just l-"

Our father intercepts the conversation while still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, "It's okay. You both can go out and run things as usual. You don't have to stay home because we are."

"Are you sure?" Rye and I ask simultaneously.

He nods and mom murmurs an "mhm" or something along those lines. "As long as you feel safe and comfortable while you're out," Dad replies.

I look at Rye, "I'm going to the Hob for a couple of hours after I shower and change. Are you going to work in the shop?" I ask.

"If you're going out, then I am as well," he turns to our parents "Are you sure you're okay with us leaving?"

After gaining their approval once more, we make ourselves presentable, and leave after saying bye to the both of them. I make sure to give them both a soft kiss on their cheeks.

"Willow," Rye starts after we walk further away from our home, "You and Percy…"

"No one else is going to know. Our parents, everyone else who doesn't know already, and especially the Capitol are going to know. After the Games, if we all escape, sure. But they are not going to find out everything about our lives. I don't… I don't want us to be in the limelight as star-crossed lovers like Mom and Dad. They were made to act certain ways, and I want to be in the shadows as much as possible. We just need to survive, not serve for their entertainment even more than we have to."

"I agree. If I die, then I want my life to be my own, not for someone to pick apart for their own joy."

Rye and I comfortably walk in silence as we walk together to the bakery. When we finally reach his destination, he tells me to be careful and I tell him that I'll see him soon, and I set off to the Hob. Silently, I walk and put myself in danger with my thoughts. It could result in another panic attack, but it is only 10 minute walk. Hopefully, I will be okay.

Without freaking myself out that much, I finally make it to the Hob where Alex enthusiastically greets me. "Willow! It's so good to see you!" She seems nervous.

"I'm sorry I didn't help you yesterday. I got… caught up." Translation: The Capitol wants to send me into the Games with my parents and I learned about it yesterday just like you.

She smiles apologetically, "I put the meat in the freezer to save me for a while, but I'll need more. I've got a little bit to last for a month or two. I was wondering if you could get some more before…" Before I leave to face my death is how she wanted to end that sentence.

"Today?" I ask. I didn't want to hunt today.

"Whenever you can." Translation: before I leave for the Capitol to fight to the death.

If I keep up these thoughts on death, I will give myself another panic attack.

"Yeah, I'll go hunting first thing tomorrow," my mother having a level head permitting, "Do you need my help with anything today?"

She shakes her head, "No, I should be okay. Thank you, though. If I need anything, I can ask one of the other hunters when they come in later."

I am about to ask if I could have a bowl of soup before I left, but I am caught off guard with the lack of people in the building. "Alex, where is everyone?"

Alex looks perplexed as well, "I was thinking the same thing when only a couple of people showed up this morning for breakfast."

"Do you think it has to do something with the news yesterday?"

She replies with an uncertain "maybe". I then tell her I will see her tomorrow and set off to the bakery, hoping that has a little more business. I forget about the bowl of soup with my stomach now full with dread.

Something is happening, and I'm nervous to discover what it is. Does it have to do with upcoming Games? The sound of footsteps following me stops me in my tracks and I turn around to see Jack. "Bones? You're out during the day?" I try to joke, but my words don't come out the way I want.

"Hey, Diana," he attempts to joke as well but neither of us are smiling, "You might want to head back home. There's rumor of a revolt, and I don't want to see you getting hurt." A revolt? Is that where everyone is hiding?

"Thank you. Could you tell Alex as well? She's still in the Hob." He curtly nods his head and I trust he will do so. "Thank you. And you be careful as well, Bones."

"I will, Diana. Now, hurry and get your brother so you get home as soon as you can."

Without being told a third time, I turn around and race towards Rye. I don't want us in the midst of a possible violent gathering. Clambering up the stairs and into the building, I find Rye lathering icing onto a decent sized cake. The wedding cake that was never finished yesterday and that might not ever be complete with how certain events are unfolding.

"Rye, we have to go back home. Officer Jack just told me there was a possible revolt about to happen and-" the sound of something popping not too far off interrupted me.

"Get down," Rye yelled at me as he rushed towards me, yanking me down to the floor.

"What the hell was that?" I asked, my heart beating fast with adrenaline.

He waits a few seconds before responding, "I think it was gun fire." He always keeps calm is serious situations which makes me think he will survive the Games and I, ultimately, will not.

"Guns? But we're not allowed to have guns?" Panic is evident in my voice.

"Unless you're an Officer."

"Why would-"

"I don't know, Willow, but what I do know is that we have to get out of here and hurry home."

"No, we should stay. If Mom and Dad find out what's happening, they're going to come here to get us. If we're gone, they're going to think something bad happened." It might be anxiety talking about 'if' situations, but it's true. They might go berserk if they can't find us.

Rye hates it when I'm right, and it shows on his face. We should get out of here, but what if we get in the middle of the crossfire when we sneak out? What if our parents do try to find us and we are nowhere to find us? One thing they reminded us both (quite a lot) is if we got lost to stay in one place so they could reach us.

But they never informed us of what happens if we were in danger.

* * *

Don't forget to leave a review! It helps motivate me to keep updating! :)


	7. Apology for Hiatus

Hey, guys! I'm so sorry that I've been on hiatus. This semester has been absolutely hectic, and I haven't been able to update at all. HOWEVER, I do have chapters written out and I do plan on finishing this story in the next month or two. I would like to ask you, though, how YOU would like the next chapters to unfold? I have a couple of options in my head, but I do want y'all have some decision on how the story continues for a little bit.

So, we left off at a possible revolt happening. Do you see District 12 revolting against the Hunger Games returning or would you rather something else happen? Please, let me know! Thank you for reading "The Phoenix", and I hope you're enjoying it so far!


End file.
